


Normal People

by EvvieJo



Series: Groves & Shaw [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7346560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvvieJo/pseuds/EvvieJo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dust has settled, now it's time for a little bit of normalcy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Normal People

**Author's Note:**

> I took some creative liberties when it comes to the layout of a place, assuming we've never really seen all of it. So bear with me.

Shaw had no idea how Root managed to get the train car back into the subway, but it was there, a little bruised and battered after their trip down the tunnel and gun fight, but otherwise exactly as it had been. Everything else was more or less the way it had been before, only sans Harold and with a few more bullet holes. She let Bear loose from his leash, and he began running and sniffing around the subway, looking for Finch. The dog wagged his tail happily for a moment, and then stopped, realizing Harold wasn’t there. He went back to Shaw with his head down.

  
“When did you come back here?,” Sameen asked.

“Two days ago. It’s been a challenge, putting it all in order. Still haven’t finished the gap you blew up in the tunnel.” Root pointed to the tarp covering the hole in the wall. “That’s a huge mess.”

“Don’t blame me, it wasn’t my idea.”

Root sighed and winced.

“Yeah, that was me.”

Rolling her eyes, Shaw turned to the computer desk in the main area. There was still a lot of things she wanted to know about Root’s last few days, but she didn’t exactly feel like talking. Talking just wasn’t her thing. And they had a job to do.

“Okay, so who is this number we got?,” she said, sitting down at the computer. Root leaned on the desk next to her as she opened the files supplied by their system.  
The number’s name was Zac F. Parish, and he was a thirty-seven-year-old accountant in a large company. His job sounded as dull as they come, as did his life in general. He had a wife, Stacey, who also seemed dull as dishwater, pretty much looked like dishwater, and worked as a librarian at an elementary school. The definition of boredom. They didn’t have children or pets, and lived on the edge of Greenpoint. There was literally nothing about them that screamed “violent crime”.

Shaw huffed in annoyance. She had been almost excited to be working the numbers again, but this was disappointing.

“Are you sure the Machine isn’t glitching?,” she turned back to Root, who gave her a dubious look. “It’s not like it’s never happened before. And this guy is just-“ She waved her hand at the screen showing the most nondescript guy with mousy hair and gray eyes you could possibly find in all of the five boroughs.

“Boring.”

To that Shaw nodded, reaching towards the computer to close the files and looking queryingly at Root.

“Don’t,” she said in a resigned voice. “We’ll check him out, if there’s nothing, I’ll let you do the honors. And I’ll make sure the Machine doesn’t glitch again. Happy?”

With a forced smile, Shaw stood up, catching Root’s arm to help herself up. Not that she needed the assistance; she just wanted to remind herself that it wasn’t a simulation and that Root was real.

“You know I don’t get happy.”

“I know.” Root smiled. “So, ready to stalk the most boring citizen of New York City?”

Shaw nodded, and let go of her friend who swiftly moved away to gather what they needed. A bag of surveillance equipment, a camera, a gun, and a shoulder bag. She passed the first on to Shaw, put the weapon in the belt of her jeans, and hung the camera and the satchel on her shoulder.

“I thought you traveled light.”

“Maybe I’m getting old,” Root shrugged. “Oh and uh- Do you happen to have a car?”

 

“Seriously, you planned out the takedown of an evil ASI, faked your own death and hid from us all for weeks, and you did it all without a car?,” Shaw asked in disbelief.

They were parked across the street from the gray and, unsurprisingly, dull house of Zac Parish and his wife. Nothing had happened in the half hour since they had arrived, apart from Stacey coming back home from work. Shaw almost missed her; the woman was like a chameleon, blending into the boring street seamlessly.

“I had to ditch the one I had stolen,” Root explained. She was sitting in the driver’s seat and examining her black-painted fingernails.

Shaw thought it was a nice touch, a reminder of the times before Samaritan and fighting for survival every single day. A reminder of the good times they shared in the middle of saving numbers, flying around the country to deal with relevant threats, and that one time they were stuck in a CIA safehouse. She could recall Root had her nails painted black then, too. Everything seemed so easy in hindsight. But maybe everything seems easy after you’ve been psychologically tortured for the bigger part of a year.

“And you didn’t think to get another?, ” she asked, looking at the camera screen on which she was observing a stray dog licking its butt. That was a lot more interesting than the Parishes.

“I had more pressing matters at hand.”

The dog got up and trotted away. With nothing more to observe, Shaw shot her friend a glance.

“Such as?”

“Such as, a place to stay.” Root leaned towards Shaw. “The room I have in the subway might be cosy and all,” by the look on her face and the sound of her voice, Sameen knew exactly what was on her mind, “but it’s not much of a home. Not when- It’s a little bit empty. Anyway, we’re not fugitives anymore, so we can be choosers.”

“Well, I hope you got a more comfortable bed than the one in the subway, I can feel my back aching just from thinking about it,” Shaw said and went back to her camera screen. There was nothing going on, but she chose to stick to observation.

Root moved another few inches closer, tickling Sameen’s ear with her breath.

“I did. I got a very comfortable bed. Although, if your back aches, I guess I could do something about it.” She reached with her hand to the spot on Shaw’s lower back where her shirt rode up, exposing bare skin.

“I thought we were supposed to be working.”

“I thought you said the number’s boring,” Root countered.

“True.” There was no denying, and the proposition was tempting. “We could just set up one of those wireless cameras.”

Still leaning towards Sameen with a hand on her back, Root smiled radiantly.

“Give me a minute.”

She hopped out of the car, grabbing a small device from the black bag in the back seat. With the Machine in her ear again, she didn’t need to bother checking her surroundings. She climbed onto a trashcan nimbly and, keeping her balance with the ease of a ballerina, she placed the camera pointed strategically at the house’s entrance.

They had already managed to bluejack Zac and Stacey’s phones – his by making a stop at his company and sneaking into a break room and hers while she was ransacking her purse looking for her keys – so they had eyes and ears on them. They were in for hours of riveting footage of the most boring couple in the state of New York. But that was better than sitting outside of their house.

Root was really back within a minute, busy with camera settings on her phone. She tapped her fingers a few times, locked the phone and put it away.  
“Your seat belt, Sameen.” When the answer she got was a raised eyebrow, she added, “We’re law-abiding citizens now.”

 

Shaw knew immediately where they were going, the area was much more familiar than she would have liked.

“Wait a sec, are we going to the safehouse? Your place is the safehouse?”

“Why so shocked, Sameen? It wasn’t being used anymore. And I like the place.”

They pulled up by the curb and got out. It was strange being back here, the last place she and Root had the last moments of relative peace before everything came crashing down on them. Before she thought Root had died.

“Come on,” Root said, grabbing her lightly by the elbow. “I’ll give you a tour.”

“Root, I’ve been there before.”

They stopped, Sameen mostly because she was still being held and her friend did so. Root lifted her hand to caress Shaw’s cheek and swipe the loose strand of hair off her eyes.  
“I know. But this isn’t the safehouse anymore.” She smiled, and it was genuine, blissful, and more than anything else, hopeful. “This is home.”

“Okay, just lead the way.” And then she was grabbed again and led to the building, through the lobby, to the elevator and eventually to the door. The same old, metal unbreakable door. “You kept the door. So much for cosy.”

Root’s grin widened.

“I couldn’t completely disregard safety. And I did get that new bed.” She unlocked the door and swung it open before Shaw. “Come on in.”

At first, the place looked exactly the way it used to. Only once Shaw was inside did she start noticing the details that had changed. The purple cushions on the sofa, the blooming orchid by one of the windows, the new curtains in light silvery gray. There was a mug left on the dining room table they would often use for strategizing, abandoned by someone who had run out of the apartment in a hurry in the morning. Because this was a home.

“Do you like it?,” Root asked. There was the tiniest shade of anxiety in her voice.

“It looks-“ Shaw intended to say different, since interior design was close to the last thing she cared about; however, there was no need to sound rude, “nice.”

Root sent her a knowing look and led her down the steps to the living space, holding her by the shoulders.

“This is not the end of the tour,” she said, taking Shaw towards the room where usually their long-term guests had stayed.

It had become a snug, albeit small master bedroom, most of which took up a king sized mahogany bed. The covers were pulled back messily; clearly whoever had left the coffee mug couldn’t be bothered about an unmade bed either. It was obvious from the state of the pillows and sheets that only one person had slept in it. The right hand side of it was untouched.

“It’d better be as comfortable as it looks,” Shaw said.

“Wanna try it?,” Root murmured into her ear and leaned to kiss her way down the side of her neck.

Shaw didn’t answer. It was a waste of time when the alternative was using her lips for things which were much more fun. She turned on the spot, searching for Root’s lips and kissing her hungrily, as passionately as she had the first time they kissed after her escape from South Africa. And Root didn’t have trouble keeping up with her, running her hands over her stomach and back, and buttocks, and breasts, grabbing onto clothes helplessly, until Sameen took matters in her own hands and undressed them both.

If the size of the bedroom had one perk, it was that at least they managed to make it to the bed.

And it was so much more than just comfortable.

 

They were lying silently side by side, Root stroking Shaw’s arm absently. This was the part she’d always loved most; the quiet companionship, the sense of belonging, the moments of peace in between battle. She knew that Sameen often had trouble with these things, but she would sometimes tell her sweet nothings as they lay in bed wrapped up in each other. She never expected her to say any of them back, and a lot of the time, no words were truly necessary.

“We should check up on our number,” Shaw said eventually. “Maybe he’s murdering someone in his basement as we speak.”

“You’re right, though I don’t think his house has a basement.” Root leaned in to peck Shaw on the lips and got up. “Come on, sweetie.”

She grabbed a silk robe from the foot of the bed and put it on. With one last adoring look over her shoulder and an inviting gesture, she left the room.

She settled on the couch with a laptop and fast-forwarded through the footage the camera they had installed had taken over the last couple of hours. Shaw joined her a few minutes into it, yawning prominently. The only significant event was Zac Parish coming back home.

“Do you mind if I doze off for, like, an hour while you watch?,” Shaw asked.

“Feel free,” Root replied, glancing sideways at her girlfriend, whose eyelids were already drooping.

The rest of the video feed brought nothing new, so Root decided to try something else. She might have said earlier they weren’t breaking the law anymore, but hacking was merely a way of obtaining information that could help them stop criminals, so it didn’t really count.

Accessing the files of M&J, Ltd., the company that employed Parish, turned out to be a piece of cake. Taking down their firewalls could be done by a five-year-old preschooler on an iPad, and Root snorted at the primitivism. A big firm dealing with mass production of tools and this is how they protect themselves? Amateurs.

She expected the accounting documents to be yet another snooze fest, when she noticed an abnormality. The ridiculousness of it all was that anyone who would take a good look at the books should be able to spot that someone was tampering with them. Thousands of dollars spent on materials or machinery raised no eyebrows. But stationery? Who orders ten grand worth of manila envelopes?

If M&J’s IT department was full of amateurs, there was no word to describe Parish. Because, with very little digging, Root was capable of tracing it all back to him.

“Don’t you people get audits?,” she muttered to herself, as she proceeded to hack Parish’s personal computer.

His laptop was on when she gained access. He was squinting, looking through a pair of reading glasses onto the screen, and typing something speedily on the keyboard. It appeared he knew a thing or two about computers himself. Enough to be able to be hacking his dentist’s files and replacing the x-ray of his jaws with somebody else’s.  
Root swatted the napping Sameen on her arm.

“Shaw? I told you the Machine wasn’t glitching.”

“What?”

Shaw rubbed sleep away from her eyes and peered onto the laptop that was showing exactly what Parish could see on his own device.

“Holy crap, he’s not boring. Except, why would he be doing that?”

“Maybe he decided he wanted a little excitement in his life.” Root pulled up what she’d discovered earlier. “He’s also been embezzling money from his employers for the last eight months.”

That almost impressed Shaw.

“How much?”

“Three hundred and sixty thousand. Give or take.”

Sameen looked back onto the screen, examining the evidence.

“It looks like he’s planning something.” She paused for a moment. “Why do you think he replaced those dental records?”

Root bit her lip and hesitated. This was probably the worst case they could possibly have received so close to the recent events of her make-believe death and resurrection.

“Since they use dental records for identification of human remains when they are badly damaged, and he replaced his own with someone else’s, I would venture a guess that he intends to- disappear and-“

“Fake his own death. Yeah, you’d guess that.” There was a bitterness in Shaw’s tone as she said that and she turned away from Root. “So what? We need to stop the murder of whoever he wants to use as his body double? How?”

 

To Shaw’s unspoken despair, they ended up in the last place they wanted to be: parked across the street from Zac Parish’s house. Again. Root was on their number’s phone, scrolling through his yawn-inducing text messages, while Shaw kept her eyes on the house.

“He never texts his wife. That’s weird. It doesn’t look like he calls her, either.” Root frowned. “The last phone call between them was three days ago. She called him and they talked for less than a minute.”

Shaw shrugged.

“Maybe he wanted to get away from her with all the money he had embezzled,” she said, never removing her eyes from the front door. Her hands were itching to shoot a kneecap or two. “I guess the guy’s never heard of divorce.”

“Oh, I think he did,” replied Root. Her lips were tugging up in one corner. “I went back to the time he first started his little operation, and then, they were still on speaking terms. Listen to this. Less than a week since the first fishy record, she asked him ‘How’s work?’. His answer was, ‘Better than I expected.’”

They exchanged a look of understanding.

“I’m beginning to like his wife,” Sameen said. “Him, not so much.”

Root nodded in agreement. Before she could say anything, the door to the Parishes’ house opened, revealing their number. He was wearing black from head to toe, including a pair of leather gloves. Since the weather hadn’t become quite cold enough to deem them necessary, their purpose was obvious.

“I suppose the guy’s watched one episode of Dexter to many,” Root chimed.

In unison, they got out of the car, startling Zac. His first instinct was to turn around and duck back inside, but he thought better of it. His knees shaking slightly, he stood his ground on the front steps. It was clear from the way the two women kept their eyes squarely at him that they were heading straight to where he was.

“Yes?,” he asked anxiously. “If you’re selling something, I’m afraid I don’t have time right now.”

“Do we really look like sales reps?,” Shaw asked her friend dubiously. “If we do, I’d rather go back to breaking the rules.”

“Sweetie, if we look like sales reps, then I guess we’re the kind that sells assault rifles,” Root said and turned back to Zac. “The only thing we could get you is a prison sentence, Mr. Parish. I believe you’re on your way to murder someone. The same someone whose dental x-rays you have replaced your own with this afternoon. After that, you are probably planning to plant his body in your house, alongside your wife’s. I’m not sure if you’ve already managed to kill her, but I dare say it’s a plausible scenario. I assume you are going to finish it off with a nice accidental fire.”

The man was dumbstruck, and he began recoiling slowly towards the door.

“How-?,” he managed to choke out.

“It doesn’t matter how. It matters that we are pretty good at what we do,” Shaw told him. “And we also know about the money.”

“If your memory needs refreshing, my dear friend here is referring to the three hundred sixty thousand in your offshore account that you have stolen from your employers at M&J by falsifying stationery orders. Which was transparent and asinine, by the way. The idea your wife had wasn’t bad, but the execution leaves a lot to be desired.” Root lifted her smart phone up and tapped at it several times. “And the money that I can very easily transfer straight back to the company’s account. There would be nothing left to cheat Stacey out of.”

Zac shifted his gaze from one woman to the other with his boring gray eyes wide open.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Concerned third parties,” Shaw said. There was the tiniest pang of grief in the back of her head when she used Reese’s favorite way of describing their job. “Have you killed your wife yet?”

The man shook his head frantically.

“Then we are the people who are going to help you not end up in prison for the rest of your pathetic life,” Root began. “You have two options. Number one: you go ahead with the murders, and before you can say Cayman Islands, the police receives the detailed records of your fraudulent little scheme. No money, no freedom. Option number two: you go back in, talk things out with your wife, the police doesn’t get notified, and maybe I will even let you keep the money.”

For a long moment, Zac Parish continued to stare wordlessly at them. He was trembling all over, and Shaw began wondering if he wasn’t going to wet himself on the spot. And that guy wanted to become a cold-blooded killer. Now that’s a good joke.

“Why do you think I should believe a word you say?,” he asked eventually. He was trying to keep his voice steady, but it broke towards the end of his question.

Shaw drew out her gun in one swift movement.

“Because.”

“Or simply,” Root said with a smirk, and started walking towards the ever more shaking Parish, “because if you look closely, I’m not bluffing.”

She held her phone up so he could see the details of his bank account on it. She made sure she was still far enough for him not to be able to grab it out of her hand, even if he risked getting shot by Shaw. There was a moment when he clearly considered it, judging the distance and the aim of Sameen’s gun. He decided against moving.

“You could also take a moment to think about what you’re doing,” Root said. “Faking your own death? Giving up your entire life? I get it, most of it is pretty lamentable, you hate your wife, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she hated you. But don’t you have anything else? Nothing you would hate to lose? Family? Friends? You do realize that it’s quite difficult to maintain your social life once people think you’re dead, right?” Zac looked horrified. “I would know, been there, done that. You will never be able to go back. I’m guessing your friends are a little less okay with resurrections than mine. And even if you didn’t have friends. You couldn’t even go back to that little cafe on the corner next to your office. And I know just how much you love their coffee and blueberry muffins. Soy milk and two sugars. Two muffins. Every work day for the last three years. Those habits are not so easy to break.”

By this point, Zac was white as a sheet. Sharing details like that always freaked people out, and Shaw enjoyed watching the effect Root could have on people when she turned on the analog interface mode. Although this time, this petty enjoyment was marred by a question nagging at her brain. Which had to wait for now.

“All right, I won’t do this,” Parish blurted out. “Can you just stop pointing this thing at me?”

Begrudgingly, Shaw lowered her gun. Root smiled brilliantly at him.

“Glad we had this talk.”

She turned gracefully and started back towards the car. The door to Parish’s house banged shut behind him.

“Are you really gonna let him keep the money?,” Shaw asked catching up with her.

Root sent her a questioning look and got back into the car. There was no other choice but to join her. Once they were both in their seats, she unlocked her phone and fumbled with it for a moment.

“So?,” Shaw prompted.

“Of course not.”

And she threw the phone into Shaw’s lap. The account had been wiped clean.

 

It took Shaw a moment to get her bearings when she woke up the following morning. Without opening her eyes, she extended her arm towards the other side of the bed, which turned out to be empty. She had developed this habit a long time ago, ever since she and Root first began sleeping together. Her presence in bed next to Shaw became reassuring incredibly quickly. A safety net. Now she needed that safety more than ever. She kept her eyes shut for another moment, preparing herself not to see the safehouse, but the dreadful hospital-like cell she’d spend just shy of ten months in when Samaritan held her.

She lifted her eyelids carefully to see that nothing had gone away. The bedroom was just as it had been when they turned off the lights and Root put her arm around Sameen the night before. It looked even softer and warmer in the morning light. Bear, who they had taken with them back home, was gone from where he’d slept at the foot of the bed.

As soon as Shaw opened the bedroom door, the smell of food cooking hit her nose. She went into the small kitchen – they had almost never used it back in the day – and frowned. Root was still in her silk robe, with an apron over it and was feeding a very eager Bear bits of something from her chopping board. There were two steaming heat-proof dishes on the counter next to the stove.

“What’s going on?,” Shaw asked.

“I’m making casseroles,” Root said cheerily, throwing another piece of what turned out to be ham to the dog.

The frown on Shaw’s face deepened as she glanced into the oven.

“What do we need four casseroles for?”

Root sent her an indulgent smile and tugged her close by putting an arm around her waist. She planted a kiss on the side of her head before saying, “Because we’re going to introduce ourselves to our new neighbors.”

If there was ever a moment Shaw thought Root was out of her freaking mind, it was then. She made sure her expression showed it.

“What?”

“This is what civilized people do, Sameen.”

“Yes,” Shaw allowed. “In suburbia. This is Brooklyn. And anyway, our new neighbors?”

The smile didn’t leave Root’s face for a second.

“Well, do you want to move in?”

Sameen pried Root’s hand off her side and moved away, in the direction of the coffee maker.

“What I want is coffee. Because I think I haven’t woken up yet. And this is a nightmare.”

Root, her good mood completely untarnished, watched her as she fumbled with the buttons of the coffee machine. She leaned in, propping her elbows on the counter of the kitchen island. Having her grumpy girl back felt better than anything ever before. Better than being chosen by the Machine, better than beating Samaritan.

“Come on, Sam,” she said, earning another glare from her girlfriend, “don’t you want to live like normal people for a while?”

Shaw gave her an incredulous look.

“Normal people? You and me? Normal? Root, we’re not normal. We’re as far from normal as Fusco is from winning Miss America.”

Biting her lip, Root straightened and took a small timid step towards Shaw.

“Of course. We’re- different. Special. But-“ She hesitated. “Now that- we’re not fighting all the time, don’t you want to just live for a while? I never really had that. Just- living. Enjoying life. And not stolen moments in between getting shot at. And I never really had anyone to share it with. And let’s face it, there aren’t many people that would want to share their life with me.” She succeeded in making Shaw look at her. “Anyway, there’s only one person I’d like to share mine with.”

For a moment, all they did was stare at each other; Root with love and tenderness in her eyes, and Shaw with a mixture of awkwardness and affection.

“Okay, just stop with this sapfest, please,” Shaw said finally, raising her hands in defeat. “As long as I don’t have to sell lipstick again, we can do this whole normal people thing.”

Root was beaming.

“I knew you’d say yes!” She grabbed Shaw in her arms with such force she almost unbalanced them both. They staggered into the wall, Root pinning Sameen down to it. “Huh, and what do you say about that?”

“I’d say it’s nice, but I think your casseroles are burning.”

Swiftly, Root untangled herself from Shaw and turned off the oven. Shaw finally managed to put on the coffee maker, and scratched Bear behind the ears while she waited for it to stop pouring out the coffee.

“I’m keeping my apartment, though,” Shaw said.

“I know.” Root smiled at her. “I figured I wouldn’t want to have your entire arsenal around the house anyway. Normal people don’t seem to keep semtex and assault rifles lying around.”

Shaw rolled her eyes and took a gulp of coffee.

“They’re gonna think we’re freaks,” she said, gesturing towards the casseroles on the counter. “The neighbors.”

“Wouldn’t be too far off from the mark, would they?” Root shrugged. “You said it yourself. We kind of are freaks.”

“You are.” Shaw could feel the corners of her mouth tugging up ever so slightly.

“Want me to get freaky with you?”

Root walked up as close as she could to Sameen, holding her against the edge of the countertop. The coffee mug Shaw had in her hand was between them, threatening to spill its hot contents.

“Don’t tempt me,” Shaw began, “to waste perfectly good coffee on you. Wait, no, you’d like that. Oh, screw this.”

With one quick movement, she put the mug back onto the counter with a crash and grabbed Root forcefully, pushing her against the wall and making her chuckle.

“Bear, weg,” Shaw said to the dog, and he trotted out of the kitchen obediently. “Now, where were we?”

 

The first apartment they visited on their casserole run around the building was the top floor one. The entire apartment building wasn’t especially large, just a small post-industrial cube with a few separate flats, one on each floor.

The penthouse apartment had a nice wooden door, just like any ordinary home would have. Root rang the doorbell with her free hand, and smiled at Shaw who was squirming, as she always did when forced into social interaction.

It took a minute for the door to swing open, revealing a woman in her thirties with dyed blonde hair and carefully done make-up. She was wearing sports clothes, but bore no signs of performing any physically demanding activity. Shaw thought she and Root probably looked more tired than she did, with all the spontaneous fun they had on the kitchen floor this morning.

“Hi, how can I help you?,” the woman asked.

“Hi,” Root said with the most endearing of her smiles (she used that one on unsuspecting victims, Shaw knew that). “I’m Samantha, and this is Sameen, we just moved in downstairs.”

Shaw could barely stop herself from staring at Root. She had never heard her use her given name like that, it was always ‘Just call me Root’ with her. She figured it had to have something to do with this whole ‘we’re gonna pretend we’re normal’ thing. As long as she didn’t want Shaw to start calling her Samantha, they were fine.

“Oh, it’s lovely to meet you, I’m Nancy, Nancy Keeton,” their neighbor introduced herself. “Come on in, I just made some fresh grapefruit juice, would you like some?”

They walked in behind her, politely denying the drink. Shaw made sure Root was looking at her as she rolled her eyes while Nancy wasn’t looking.

“Oh, and this is for you,” Root said, passing the casserole to Nancy. “Just a little gift to buy ourselves into our new neighbors’ graces. It’s an original Southern recipe.”

“This is very kind of you, thank you,” Nancy replied, peeling off the plastic wrap from the top of the dish and taking a whiff. “Smells delicious. Are you a chef or something?”

Root waved her hand dismissively.

“No, not at all, although I did dabble in catering for a little while.”

It took some effort for Shaw not to snort.

“So what do you do?” Nancy’s voice was full of keen interest.

“We-,“ Root and Shaw started simultaneously and exchanged a glance.

“You say.” Sameen forced a smile at her girlfriend. She was half-sure she didn’t want to know what the answer would be.

“We’re P.I.s.”

The fake smile hurt Shaw’s face. What? She actually chose an acceptable profession?

“This is fascinating.” For some reason, Nancy looked genuinely fascinated. “Do you guys have a card or something.”

“We’re working on that,” Root replied. “We’ve had a little change in the job department recently. Our old boss moved away, and we’re kind of starting from scratch.”

Nancy eyed them for a second from under squinted eyelids.

“Wait, was your boss this guy in glasses and a suit, with a limp?,” she asked. “Isn’t that his apartment you moved into? I thought I recognized you from somewhere.”

It seemed their neighbor was a little too observant for their liking. Shaw glanced at Root to measure her reaction, but she looked unfazed.

“Yes, that’s him.” She smiled brilliantly. “He needed to sell the place quickly when he was leaving, so it was a real bargain.”

“I never really saw him much around the place, when I think about it,” Nancy said. “But when he was around, there were a lot of people coming and going.”

“He’s a very private person,” Shaw said. “But he has a lot of friends. And family.”

Nancy smiled politely, though it seemed that even if she didn’t think Root and Shaw were freaks, her opinion of Harold certainly swayed in that direction. The conversation hit a dead end. Shaw tried not to betray just how much anguish this was causing her, mostly because she didn’t want to mess it up for Root. It was one of the few things she could give her.

“I guess we should be going,” Root said. “More casseroles to pass around.”

She began heading back to the door, tugging Sameen gently by the wrist. The touch was nothing like the passionate grabbing earlier, clearly aimed to create the pretence of normalcy.

“It was great meeting you, Samantha. Sameen.” Nancy giggled. “Sam squared, huh?”

Shaw feigned a chuckle that would convince no one.

“Kinda, yeah,” Root agreed.

“Hey, me and Larry, that’s my husband, we’ll be having a little gathering next Saturday. Would you like to come over?” Nancy obviously wasn’t one to give up easily on the perspective of new friends.

“We’d love to,” the reply came before Root could be stopped.

 

Introducing themselves to all their new neighbors proved way more exhausting than beating up scumbags in the back alleys of Manhattan. Shaw was almost regretting she had ever agreed to moving in and playing house with Root. Of course, there were certain perks involved – because, let’s be honest, the sex alone was worth it – but socializing was the biggest downside there could ever be in pretending to be normal.

And then, when Shaw wanted to enjoy the rest of the day lying on the couch with Bear doing nothing, since the Machine had been silent since giving them Parish’s number, Root announced there was another important order of business for the day, and dragged her down to the car.

To Sameen’s surprise, they ended up at the subway. At first, she had to double check if they had arrived at the right spot, because where just yesterday there was the vending machine that concealed the door to their underground base, there was an actual door.

The door was made of metal and bulletproof glass, and looked quite heavy even before Root turned a key in the lock and pulled it open, smiling sheepishly as she struggled with the weight.

“When did this happen?,” Shaw asked, pointing at the new entrance.

“This morning. I had it arranged a few days ago. They dropped off the keys this afternoon.”

“When?” She hadn’t noticed anyone coming to the safehouse.

“When you were washing off the stench of social interaction,” Root replied, pushing Shaw into the subway.

The rest of the place remained the same, which brought Shaw relief. She wasn’t sure how much more of those surprises she was ready to take.

Once inside, Root headed straight to the desk in the center of the room, and took out a small rectangular box from a drawer. She laid it on top of the table.

“This is the last one, I promise,” she said, as if she were reading Shaw’s mind.

Sameen eyed her suspiciously, carefully edging up the lid of the box.

“It won’t explode,” Root assured her.

“Just tell me it doesn’t glitter.”

“Sweetie, shacking up is all I’m asking.” She tried sounding casual, but a hint of anxious expectation colored her voice.

Casting one last glance at Root, Shaw took the lid off. Inside, there was a thick stack of small white pieces of thin cardboard, bearing the heading which said GROVES & SHAW. Private investigators in plain bolded letters. Underneath, there were their contact details, including the address of the subway and a website.

“Are you serious? We’re really gonna be stalking cheating husbands?”

“Well, if that’s what the Machine tells us to do,” Root told her.

“We’re gonna ask for money for saving people’s asses?” Shaw considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay. I like this cover better than the last one.”

Root smiled at her and reached into another drawer, retrieving a thick envelope.

“Except,” she said, emptying it onto the desk, “this isn’t a cover.”

What was inside the envelope were two sets of documents, each including a driver’s licence, a passport, a certificate of birth, and a shiny new private detective license. The thing that caught Shaw’s eye first was the name she saw on the topmost ID. She looked through all the other papers. They were her and Root’s. Sameen Shaw’s and Samantha Groves’s.

“When I was- fake dead, after I restarted the Machine, I managed to recreate our identities,” Root explained. “They’re a blank slate. Tabula rasa. We can write whatever we want on it.”

“And you want a white picket fence,” Shaw said. She tried not to sound bitter.

“No, Sameen, didn’t you listen to what the Machine told you? I know you. I know what I can expect from you. I don’t want a white picket fence. I want you. Alive. Out of jail. With me.”

Root was now close enough to wrap her arms around Shaw, but she didn’t even touch her; she could tell none of it was welcome right now.

“And you didn’t think I wanted you alive, too?”

The question was quiet, yet it seemed to echo and reverberate through the subway like a thunder. For Root, it felt like a blow in the face.

“Sameen- I wish there had been another way.”

“You couldn’t tell me? Not even me? Do you know what it was like? It was like- like someone had pulled out a plug. Like there was light, and someone turned off the switch.”

An infinitesimal smile tugged at Root’s lips.

“I wish I could. But the choice was between leaving you in the dark, safe, and telling you, risking Samaritan finding out somehow, and getting to you before I could shut it down. And I- I just couldn’t risk that. Not again.” She reached out, putting her hand tenderly on Shaw’s. “I promise, I will never do that again.”

Sameen looked up on her. It appeared she was appeased, at least for now.

“So you meant what you said to Parish? Fake-dying sucks.”

“It’s not like you’ve never done it before,” Root pointed out.

“True, but I had nothing to lose then.”

“And now?”

Shaw laced her fingers with Root’s, watching how they fit perfectly together.

“And now I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this. There might be a couple more parts, there might be a lot more parts. It all depends on when my ideas dry up. But I am so not ready to say goodbye to those two.  
> I hope you enjoyed!


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